Of Turtles and Worlds
The Beginning
1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.
3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was….
There is always a beginning, at least for all of us creatures of time. Before we were, there was nothing, and after us, when the light is extinguished, the flame goes out (as a Buddhist would say) there will be nothing*. Therefore our sense of “why” this world, which includes us, — is unspeakably important. “Why” stories are never told as a recipe, a simple diagrammatic description. The “why,” of this sort of world, why am I here, where-am-I-going question must be answered by a great myth, by language that fires our imagination. It is the bond of imagination that offers common ground firm enough for all of us to stand together.
Sadly, tragically, the collection of myths that gave substance to our society here in the West no longer function, resonate in our imaginations. A few lines of our ancient creation myth begins this post. I think it is reasonable, a logical extension of the death-of-myth that our polity is shattered; we are divided into regional and epistemic sub groups, small tribal entities existentially at war with each other. The difficulty of understanding between family members who stand firm on opposite sides of the conservative vs liberal political divide, grows by the week. Our social media has been weaponized into propaganda, an armory of seduction, half-truths, character assassination fragmentation shells that cripple critical thinking, judgment. We are functioning homo oeconomicus, with an insatiable appetite.
A good friend sent me this artifact of myth, that he fashioned using a 3D printer, and hand-painted. I placed the world-bearing great turtle
on a shelf between my books. It is a reminder that there was a time before and there will be a time after my “I.” And that the “why” of the matter is unanswerable except except by a expansive and “delicious” mythic tale.
Dad, who created/creates the world? Why son, the great turtle sustains and bears the world upon its strong eternal shell…..
The great turtle myth is as good as any, it seems to me.
Here are some memorable lines which my friend passed on to me, in association with the sculpture.
“Gods didn’t mind atheists, if they were deep, hot, fiery atheists like Simony, who spend their whole life hating gods for not existing. That sort of atheism was a rock. It was nearly belief….”
“Don’t put your faith in gods. But you can believe in turtles.”
“Odd thing, ain’t it…you meet people one at a time, they seem decent, they got brains that work, and then they get together and you hear the voice of the people. And it snarls.”
“Captain Vimes believed in logic, in much the same way as a man in a desert believed in ice – ie., it was something he really needed, but this just wasn’t the world for it.”
“What a place! What a situation! What kind of man would put a known criminal in charge of a major branch of government? Apart from, say, the average voter.”
“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness always got there first, and is waiting for it.”
“Ankh-Morpork had dallied with many forms of government and had ended up with that form of democracy known as One Man, One Vote. The Patrician was the Man; he had the Vote”
Enough said……………………..
Most important of all, here is a magnificent anthem to illuminate the darkness. Lyrics follow the video.
*A realist will object that Reality precedes the minds construction of input from the five senses, and Reality is subsequent to the minds cessation. My reply: That’s an admirable faith. Give me one concrete example.
(I Just) Died In Your Arms
Oh, I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must’ve been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
I keep looking for something I can’t get
Broken hearts lie all around me
And I don’t see an easy way
To get out of this
Her diary sits by the bedside table
The curtains are closed, the cat’s in her cradle
Who would’ve thought
That a boy like me could come to this?
Oh-oh-oh, whoa
Oh, I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must’ve been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh-oh-oh, whoa
Oh, I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must’ve been some kind of kiss
I should’ve walked away
I should’ve walked away
Is there any just cause for feeling like this?
On the surface, I’m a name on a list
I try to be discreet
But then blow it again
I’ve lost and found, it’s my final mistake
She’s loving by proxy, no give and all take
‘Cause I’ve been thrilled to fantasy
One too many times
Oh-oh-oh, whoa
Oh, I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must’ve been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh, I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must’ve been some kind of kiss
I should’ve walked away
I should’ve walked away
It was a long hot night
She made it easy, she made it feel right
But now it’s over, the moment is gone
I followed my hands, not my head
I know I was wrong
Oh, I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must’ve been something you said
I just died in your arms tonight
Oh, I, I just died in your arms tonight
It must’ve been some kind of kiss
I should’ve walked away
I should’ve walked away
2 thoughts on “Of Turtles and Worlds”
It seems to me we often describe our process of Myth creation completely backwards. Instead of sitting around our darkened cave watching shadow-pictures coming from outside, giving us an approximation of reality: Think rather the tribe sitting around the fire; The Head Man teaching his truths about lightening or bird-flight; Casting shadows on the wall as sort of a primitive audio-visual projector. Soon some child gets tired of the narrative, and shouts out, “Uncle, Bob, please do the Rabbit again. I love the Rabbit.”
After many generations, the Rabbit becomes firmly embedded in the story.
Fortunately for us, we know the author, and can read the original, about the great turtle A’Tuin flying through the cosmos, supporting four elephants, [there used to be a Fifth Elephant], carrying on their backs the great disk of our world. Here I point you towards Sir Terry Pratchett, with his 41 Discworld novel, and numerous other works, [I think someone mentioned once before “Good Omens,” co-authored with Neil Gaiman].
Here you will visit the great twin city Ankh-Morpork, ruled by the pragmatic Lord Vetinari (sometimes referred to as dog-botherer), and home to the Unseen University, and its dual law enforcement institutions, the City Watch and Assassins Guild. The city itself lies on the River Ankh, the most polluted waterway on the Discworld, which divides it into the more affluent Ankh and the poorer Morpork. Lying approximately equidistant from the cold, mountainous Hub and tropical Rim, Ankh-Morpork is in the Discworld’s equivalent of the temperate zone.
Ranging out from Ankh-Morpork, perhaps traveling with Rincewind, a wizard with no skill, and Twoflower, a naive tourist from the Agatean Empire who’s Luggage is a semi-sentient and exceptionally vicious multi-legged traveling accessory, you will meet:
Three wise women, herbalists, and adjudicators, Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, and Tiffany Aching;
Captain of the Watch Sam Vimes, with his companions none-too-bright Sergeant Fred Colon, Corporal Nobby Nobbs, a petty thief in his own right, and Carrot Ironfoundersson, a 6-foot-6-inch-tall dwarf-by-adoption; Angua, a werewolf; Detritus, a troll; Reg Shoe, a zombie and Dead Rights campaigner; Cuddy, a Dwarf; Golem Constable Dorfl; Cheery Littlebottom, the Watch’s forensics expert, who is one of the first dwarves to be openly female (and who tried to rename herself “Cheri”, but without success); Sam’s wife, Lady Sybil Vimes; Constable Inspector A E Pessimal (Visit-the-infidel-with-explanatory-pamphlets);
The reformer Brutha, Prophet of Om; [The Great God Om tries to manifest himself once more in the world. He is surprised, however, when he finds himself in the body of a tortoise, stripped of his divine powers. In the gardens of Omnia’s capital he addresses the novice Brutha, the only one able to hear his voice. Om has a hard time convincing the boy of his godliness, as Brutha is convinced that Om can do anything he wants, and would not want to appear as a tortoise. With the help of the Great Library, and the philosophers Didactylos, his nephew, Urn, and Abraxas, Om learns that Brutha is the only one left who believes in him. All others either just fear the Quisition’s wrath or go along with the church out of habit.]
Eventually, everyone meets Death, seven-foot-tall skeleton in a black robe who sits astride a pale horse (called Binky), with his Terrible grand-daughter Susan (the schoolteacher). Terry Pratchett passed away from Alzheimer’s disease in 2015. The motto on Sir Terry’s crest read, “Noli Timere Messorem (Don’t fear the reaper);”
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Rincewind flatly states that he does not wish to join an expedition to explore over the edge of the Disc—but, being fully geared for the expedition at the time, clarifies by saying that any amount of protesting on his part is futile, as something will eventually occur that will bring him into the expedition anyway.
I suspect that Discworld could be an appealing read for me. I like the paradox between “free” will and the press of fate which your description outlines.
I agree that all kinds of things figured into the myths as they were polished by generations of retelling. I suspect that the scientific method and experimental approach to knowledge which we revere as the ideal of knowledge, has by and large eliminated mythic ways of knowing that are equally important and critical to our survival. Maybe that’s why I enjoy pop music concerts so much because of the great stories of human quest and failure are offered entwined with the music.
Would you like to go with me to Summerfest in Milwaukee early in July? I’ll spring for the tickets.